


Get Reddie To Fight (Zombies)

by stanpool



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Drama, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Humor, M/M, Richie Tozier Flirts, Richie Tozier-centric, greatly inspired by Wyatt Oleff’s playlist for Stan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 08:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16238033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stanpool/pseuds/stanpool
Summary: Zombies or not, the Losers’ Club would survive.





	Get Reddie To Fight (Zombies)

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Get reddie to fight (zombies)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13503177) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account), [stanpool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stanpool/pseuds/stanpool). 



> [playlist](https://twitter.com/fellowyatt/status/908378512846839808) i mentioned A LOT throughout the GRtFZ
> 
> also, my dear friend **Mel** made a stunning [aesthetic](http://everytuesday.tumblr.com/post/178899278729/summary-zombies-or-not-the-losers-club-would) you had to take a look at!!
> 
> and, again, i’d like to thank this wonderful person, **@samisanidiot101** on Tumblr, who beta’ed this text  <3 <3 so you could at least (and i hope enjoy) read this text now afafafgh

“Everything will be alright,” Stan says, and Richie immediately wants to punch him.

Stan says ‘alright’, no matter what’s on fire—whether it be a nearby house, cars, or even Stan’s own ass. Stan says ‘alright’, because he would be just fine no matter what happened to or around him. Stan says ‘alright’, because it wouldn’t make any less of a difference who replaced him—Spock, an alien or a robot. That’s just who he is; the range of Stan’s emotions thinner than Henry Bowers’ dick…

“You’d know if Spock had replaced me. And really, Richie? You’re the one who’s talking about Henry Bowers’ dick in the middle of a zombie apocalypse— still think _I’m_ the weirdo here?”

Did he just say all that out loud?

Well, no wonder Stan the Man gets on his nerves as quick as a bullet. Even right now—especially right now—he is all calm and collected self, his clothes are anything but clean and crisp, and he has that signature blank expression on his face.

Richie, on the other hand, is a nervous wreck. There is no “How to Stay Alive in a bloody Zombie Apocalypse” in his curriculum— as far as he knows, anyway.

Truth to be told, he barely got credit for the last one: “How to get rid of a Killer Clown, A.k.a the Creature that has terrorized Derry's Citizens since for-fucking-ever”. And even then, the only lesson learnt was ‘hit and run’. Even better— out of Derry.

Big Bill and Bev may be deserters, but they sure as hell aren’t stupid.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Urin,” answers Richie with one of his _Voices_ , an awfully annoying British one, “but nowadays only the words ‘Henry Bowers’ dick’ work like some magical spell to get your attention, Your Lordship.”

Stan doesn’t say anything. Stan is above those sort of things. Stan is the most boring person in the universe.

He simply starts the car that Stan’s father had bought him long before this shitfest started, and they head to Ben’s place without another word.

Richie fidgets in the front seat, checking his wrist watch from time to time. The bat he’s carried along with him is getting his pants bloodstained, there’s dirt and dried blood clogging under his nails, and his hair is an unholy mess. It was turning out to be a great tango with the zombies, before Stan showed up and took the fun out of everything, as per usual.

Just to occupy his hands, Richie starts cracking his knuckles, then leans in a bit to open the glove compartment.

“Uh-huh,” he scoffs, looking at his lucky find with curiosity. “Do y’think your magical atlas will be helpful not only against _It_ but zombies, too?”

Stan rolls his eyes, sighing as he shuts the glove compartment, and turns up the volume on his stereo.

It’s only occurs to him after _I Ran (So Far Away)_ by A Flock Of Seagulls and _Under Pressure_ by Queen that there is no need to continue acting like Stan has the worst taste ever and simply enjoy the ride (as much as he could in such circumstances). But then Richie hears _Hungry Like The Wolf_ he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Even if all of the titles reflects real madness around almost literally, Duran Duran is just… _no_.

The final straw comes when Richie hears Stan humming along to _Tainted Love_ by Soft Cell— there’s no coming back from Stan's official status as Annoying Asshole.

Though it does keep Richie distracted, keeping him from thinking about Eds, and the possibility that he could be injured, zombified, or even lying dead in a ditch somewhere. Or the fact that zombified Mama Tozier tried to finish him off— which, strangely, wasn’t a whole lot different from her usual attitude towards Richie. Or. the fact that they were hitting a zombie-operator from Center Street Drug Store full on right now.

Richie would rather think about Stan’s secret mix-tape or his supernatural abilities to see the future than allow himself to worry about reality.

 

 

**///**

 

They’re halfway to Ben’s house when Stan's mask finally cracks. He is uncharacteristically nervous, and that scares Richie out of his wits. So when they arrive with the hood of Stan’s car covered in blood, Richie holds his bat closer to his chest, scouring the area more cautiously than before. He only hopes that they aren’t too late, and the rest of the Losers’ are safe and sound.

It’s quiet here, maybe a little too much so. No zombies, or anything remotely resembling a rotting corpse. But Richie can’t shake of the shiver creeping up his spine. It’s like he knows something’s about to happen, something bad, something beyond repair.

Stan is talking to him. Probably some important stuff, about what could possibly save their lives at some point in their current future, but Richie can’t concentrate on his words.

Instead, he wonders if Eds knows that his zombified neighborhood who’d recently moved to Derry from Lisbon Falls ate his mother’s brains for breakfast. He wonders if it’d be appropriate to joke that he always knew Mrs. K was a bit of a ‘snack’.

When the door remains shut after three long minutes, Richie starts to freak out, almost losing it. Stan makes an awkward pat on his shoulder, which is about as much sympathy and support as he could provide.

When the door opens and Ben’s head peeks behind the door, along with Mike and Eddie, Richie whispers a relief-filled sigh, “Thank the Spaghetti Gods.” Even though Mike is still pointing his bolt gun at them, alert gaze in all of their eyes.

Everyone’s alive. Everyone’s safe. Everyone’s alright. _Fuck_  Stan.

“Party without us? I’m offended,” Richie exclaims in an overly dramatic tone, leaning on his bat with a poised hand over his heart in an audible gasp.

“Apparently the zombies haven’t sucked your brains dry, Rich,” Mike chuckles and points his gun down, “Come on in.”

“Questionable,” Stan deadpans as he squeezes himself through the door.

When Ben leads them to the living room, Eddie murmurs a “They’d choke on it anyway,” and Richie smirks at the comment.

“Sounds like you speak from experience, Eds.”

Eds’ middle finger is all Richie gets as a response.

God, Richie is _so_ in love.

 

 

**//**

 

He doesn’t know who to thank, their recent battle with Pennywise or the constant bullying from Bower’s gang, because when he watches how sure-handed Eddie treats Ben’s cuts and Mike’s steadiness with his weapon, Richie thinks they are ready for anything the world throws at them, even this bitch of an apocalypse.

Zombies or not, the Losers’ Club would survive.

Once gathered together, Mike starts to share his theory of how it went wrong. Every time Richie tries to interrupt to express his own thoughts, Eddie shushes him aggressively, so all he can do is listen begrudgingly.

According to Mike, something strange had happened at the farm a few days ago. The sheep had caught an unknown disease; their eyes turned black, hair fading and thinning— it had happened in less than a day. Mike’s grandfather was even forced to order expensive antibiotics. Yesterday, though, things took a turn for the worse. Mike had just left his house to check on the flock when he heard horrible noises from within.

“Honestly, it wasn’t a sight for the faint of heart. The sheep went completely insane, tearing each other into pieces. The shed was filled with almost pitch black blood,” Mike looks away. “The stench had gotten so bad, it was unbearable. It smelt of decay, blood and dung— all at once.”

Eddie winces.

“Gross!”

Mike nods and sighs heavily.

The look on Mike’s face is so intense, damn it! Richie envies his endurance. He begins to laugh at his own jokes right after telling them.

“I think after the bird flu, then swine and horse, it mutated into sheep flu, and then...who knows? I guess it was only a matter of time until it had extended and switched over to people, which led to the zombie chaos. Our farm _does_ provide for most of the butcher shops in Derry, even some out of town.”

Everyone in the room nods, including Richie— until he doubles over with laughter, guffawing hysterically.

Did Mike seriously think he could fill his shoes of being the resident comedian? His jokes weren’t even funny— Richie would rather believe in a secret government lab that explored the Upside Down and located on the ruins of Kitchener Ironworks Factory than _that_ nonsense.

The guys, even Stan, seemed to take Mike’s words as seriously as the boy himself. Although, with Stan’s resting stone face, he didn’t really count. Richie stops only when he sees Ben and Eddie eyeing him with the _look_ , the one that told him to shut up and listen.

He shrugs, trying to laugh it off, “Call the media! Zombie apocalypse comes from Mikey Hanlon’s crazed sheep— come one come all! Only in Derry, Maine—"

 

 

**/**

 

Normally, Richie isn’t concerned about Stan or what he’s doing; after all, Stan was his constant, very put together and steady, since forever. But seeing him standing in the middle of the living room, unblinking, staring at the pool of blood and his own reflection in it, kind of worries Richie. What the hell was he waiting for? Was he expecting some sort of monster to come out from another dimension, dragging Stan in with it?

They knew better than to ask about Ben’s mom. Shit happened, and with a centuries’ old history of deaths here in the town, Derry could open up its’ own thematic museum of Bloodthirsty Monsters and Atrocities. Maybe even as a tourist attraction in all of Maine.

For now, they had better things to do, such as loading up their backpacks with supplies. Eddie’s first aid box, a couple of emergency supplies and basic necessities, a number of kitchen knives, Mike’s bolt gun and extra bullets, all the cash they could find, and a Gameboy along with Ben’s Walkman— so they wouldn’t go crazy from boredom.

Richie, meanwhile, is responsible for stocking up on food.

He ransacks of every store and drawer in the kitchen, checks the utility room and the basement at least twice, but there is no sign of any Twinkies or Reese’s in the house. How did they think he was going to survive the apocalypse? He knows that Mike is vegetarian, Stan prefers only kosher food and Ben is trying to avoid any sugar-containing groseries as much as possible, but that doesn't mean Richie’s needs could be ignored.

They were out the house in half and hour, loading up Mike’s old but spacious minivan and getting settled. Mike would be driving, with Ben as his co-pilot, and the rest of them in the backseat much like his favorite three-cheese pizza. All that was left to do was to gas up the van and get out of the contaminated town as soon as possible.

Ben was the one who suggested leaving for Portland. None of the boys disagreed, not when the angry crowd of zombies were hot behind their trail, hitting them any minute. Richie secretly wishes they could move to Cali, though, to feel the sun shining on his face and leaving his worries behind.

When they get to gate I-95, with Mike going at 55 miles per hour in a 75-mile lane, _Africa_ by Toto starts to play in the background.

“I don’t need candy when I’m with you, sugar,” Richie announces to Eddie and gives him a wet kiss on the cheek for good measure, pulling back only to laugh at said boy’s faked disgusted expression.

Eddie gives him a slap on the wrist in return—perhaps flirtatiously—attempting to free himself from Richie’s grip, and Ben snickers. Richie winks at Stan, to which he receives a roll of eyes and exasperated groan, as if he’d rather get bitten than be here this very moment.

Richie’s grin widens. Right now, he feels invincible, like he’s ready to take on Satan himself. Kicking puny zombies in the ass and protecting his boys? No problemo.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://everytuesday.tumblr.com)


End file.
